I narrow my eyes to indicate my disapproval and whirl away, and the queue behind me shuffles up.
In a case of the most rotten or perhaps the best timing ever, Petra and Audrey walk across the open space in front of me, arm-in-arm. I brighten my face when I see them, smiling like I’m an entrant in a beauty pageant and holding up my impressive stack of paper. Behold my wrath and quake before me et cetera, the Queen is here to carve new factions in the kingdom and reign supreme. I zoom the petitions through the air while Audrey sneers and Petra looks away.
The doors to the staff room are almost as busy as reception, swinging back and forth every few seconds spitting out teachers or sucking them in, but the teachers have looks on their faces that say don’t interrupt me, probably on account of not having had enough coffee or sleep or not having had sex in the last two hundred years.
Every time one of the staffroom doors swings open you get a tantalising glimpse of the interior. Everyone knows that the teachers are always getting drunk in the staffroom and that’s why they never let students look inside although I guess 8.30 a.m. is a little early.
‘Natalia, can I help you?’
Finally Mr Scrutton takes pity and lingers in the doorway.
‘Mrs Christie is supposed to be in there.’
‘Let me check.’
The doors slam in unison, and the posters on the wall opposite flutter. As if the universe is trying to mock me, there’s a big poster publicising the art exhibition. The exhibition cocktail evening is tonight, which means I only have today to get Chloe’s artwork reinstated. I don’t have time to play cat-and-mouse with Christie.
‘No luck, I’m afraid, Natalia.’ Mr Scrutton stands in the doorway, keeping it ajar with one foot. A microwave dings somewhere in the den of iniquity. ‘Have you tried her office?’
I’d like to answer his very obvious question but my attention has been taken by the noticeboard just inside the staffroom, near the open door. Student photos are pinned up with notes underneath, warning of chronic asthma, allergies, epileptic seizures, diabetes and more. Yin’s face is among them.
‘Is everything okay? Anything else you need help with?’
I try not to get busted staring at the noticeboard. Mr Scrutton is not too bad as far as teachers go.
‘Everything’s fine!’ I sound so fake he must be able to tell. Under Yin’s photo it says ‘Shellfish—anaphylaxis. Moderate asthma—ventolin.’
I’d forgotten about Yin’s allergies until now. I remember the time Yin accidentally ate a dipping sauce with minute amounts of fish sauce in it and her eyes and mouth swelled up instantly and Chunjuan had to stab her in the thigh with an epipen. What if Doctor Calm doesn’t know about her allergy? What if she told him and he didn’t take her seriously?
‘It’s been a stressful year for everyone.’
‘Uh huh.’ My eyes want to return to the noticeboard. Drop it, I tell myself sternly.
I thank Scrutton and get away from the staffroom, the petitions heavy in my hands. I wonder if Yin had her epipen and ventolin with her when she was taken. What if the reason she hasn’t been returned like the others is because there was an accident?
Drop. It. Natalia. This time I rap myself three times on the head with my knuckles, as if I can make each word sink in.
I walk slowly across the foyer, sunk in thought.
Two maintenance men in blue overalls carry a large orange-and-green balloon arrangement across the space, the balloons skimming the low ceiling.
I know where Mrs Christie’s office is, everyone does, so when the receptionists aren’t looking, I scuttle down the short corridor to her lair and put the petitions right in front of her door, where she can’t miss them. Because I’m clever, I also take a photo of them, so she can’t say afterwards that she never saw them.
I send the photo to Chloe with the message: We need to talk about tonight.
She doesn’t reply but when I go to get my books for fifth period she’s waiting in front of my locker.
‘So you are at school today!’ I remark. I must say that I’ve seen her look better but I guess that’s what happens when Balmoral tries to crush your dreams.
‘Ally showed me the petition.’
‘I didn’t count for sure, but I’m thinking we might have over four hundred signatures. At least.’
‘It’s nice that you’re trying to do something for me…’ she starts.
‘No no no no—’ I jump in, ‘Not trying, I am doing something for you. And there’s more, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a spectacular protest planned for the cocktail evening tonight.’
‘Natalia,’ she says.
‘We’re going to stick it to the man, or the woman I suppose, in this case. Christie needs to know that we won’t bow to her fascist—’
‘Natalia. Look at me.’
Chloe holds her head at the temples like her brain might explode any second now. I’m no expert, but she seems unusually stressed. Her eyes are sliding about like she knows something I don’t know.
‘I appreciate you doing all this, but I need you to stop.’
The look on my face must say it all because she continues.
‘I don’t want to fight anyone about this,’ Chloe says. ‘Not Mrs Christie and not even Petra. Audrey came and found me this morning, and she thinks Yin’s disappearance has brought up Petra’s grief over her aunt who passed away not that long ago.’
‘What? That makes no sense. Yin has nothing to do with Petra’s aunt. She deserves everything she gets!’ My finger goes up in the air. I am ready, more than ready, to debate this. ‘Firstly, we both know that Petra fired the first shot and anything we do is just matching her dirty move. If she didn’t want to fight, she shouldn’t have taken us on.’
Chloe
